


Giving Voice to Thoughts

by ASilvergirl



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: And now for something completely different..., Diamond theft casefic, Don't Post To Another Site, Gen, Humor, John is a good partner, Sherlock Being Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:47:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27378961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ASilvergirl/pseuds/ASilvergirl
Summary: There's a serial thief in London's diamond district. Sherlock and John join Lestrade in trying to solve this who-done-it. The culprit isn't saying a word. Once caught, they'll surely be singing a different tune.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson
Comments: 8
Kudos: 25





	Giving Voice to Thoughts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Silvergirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silvergirl/gifts).



As cases go, it’s a two…until it isn’t. 

A three carat diamond disappears from a Hatton Garden jewellery merchant. The theft occurs in the noted diamond district, the site of the famous 1993 diamond robbery, but Sherlock prefers to think of it as the birthplace of Sir Hiram Maxim’s machine gun. 

Ten days later, a high grade 2 carat diamond vanishes from a different merchant; six days later, a third missing stone. Interesting, but with no murder victim, Sherlock considers it barely a four. When a jeweller that boasts the royal warrant after designing the Duchess of Cornwall's latest brooch is hit, it makes headlines, and Lestrade’s Major Investigation Team is called in. Which means that Sherlock and John are close behind. Well, they would have been close behind if their cab had not picked up a nail deeply embedded in a tyre tread, forcing them to switch to another taxi.

Sherlock uses the delay to give John some background. “These are no ordinary jewellery shops, no ordinary jewellers. These are diamantaires—diamond merchants. They deal mostly in loose stones but some do bespoke work, too. Some are quite large businesses, with rows of diamond cutters, graders, polishers, sorters, and loppers working in the back rooms.”

“Like a factory.”

“Very much. Interestingly, the dealers hit by this robber are smaller,” Sherlock says as the cab comes to a stop in front of their destination--an unassuming building on a street lined with similar buildings, mostly diamond related. “They’re almost hybrids between a diamantaire and a common “shop”.

John interrupts his humming along to a song on the radio long enough to pay the cabbie and follows Sherlock into the building. They are met with a glare from Sergeant Donovan, who is tapping her foot impatiently. Sherlock ignores her, but John gives her a placid smile, "Keep your knickers on. Traffic wasn't cooperating." He starts quietly singing the lyrics to the song that had been playing in the taxi.

“ _Take it easy, take it easy. Don’t let the sound of your own wheels drive you crazy_.” 

Instead of being annoyed, Donovan laughs. “The Eagles, 1972. Big fan. Saw ’em in concert at the O2 back in ’14.”

“Yeah? I hear they’re coming back in—” 

Sherlock clears his throat, interrupting the boring exchange. John nods in acquiescence but he’s grinning.

Sally gestures them forward and leads them to Lestrade’s group in the glassed-in office — bulletproof, obviously — of the showroom of the latest crime scene. The office is ideal: it offers a full view of the area, its eight employees, a security guard, and four customers, who are being guarded by police officers. 

Lestrade wastes no time bringing them up to date. 

“Everyone present agrees that no-one left after the alarm sounded, which was damned fast this time. Someone was on their toes.” 

Donovan adds, “We’ve interviewed all employees of all the jewellers hit.”

“Including the staff not working on the days of the thefts?” Sherlock asks, but he knows Lestrade is no idiot.

“Especially them. Armoured car personnel, security guards, couriers, food delivery services, and the grunts and interns who fetch the coffee from Costa—.”

“Must leave no _stone_ unturned, Lestrade.” 

John elbows Sherlock in the ribs and Lestrade chortles. 

As he speaks, Sherlock’s eyes peruse the place, noting security cameras, display cases, and the security entryway. “Diamond merchants exist in an industry which is dominated by family-owned businesses, especially the smaller ones. Everyone knows everyone else. Our thief must be someone who knows their way around. Not a stranger to how these merchants operate.”

The Detective Inspector agrees. “Uh-huh. Whoever’s pulling this off knows his stuff. Every stone was flawless or VVS1s or 2s, nothin’ higher than a J, nothin’ smaller than a 2 carat.”

“Want to translate that for the uninitiated?”

Sherlock does the honours. “Of course, John. VVS. Very, very slight inclusion. As for colour, the higher the letter, the less desirable the stone.”

Donovan gestures to the assembled suspects. “We searched their handbags, briefcases, wallets, then took ‘em, separately in the back and they were searched thoroughly, including their clothes, hell, even their socks. It’s going to take more evidence to be allowed a strip search.”

Sherlock rakes his eyes over the group. “You could have saved your time and not bothered with any of the back room people, the customer with the striped tie, or the security guard.”

Lestrade sighs. “I’m not even gonna ask.”

“Doesn’t mean we’re not gonna check them out, too. And their families,” the Sergeant meets Sherlock’s stare with a challenge stare of her own. “Due diligence. But _if_ you’re right, that leaves only four suspects. And they’re all here. Convenient.” 

“Let’s confirm that, shall we?”

Lestrade urges Sally forward with a hand wave, and she unenthusiastically opens her laptop and cues up the video of the first theft. They review each video from ten minutes before until ten minutes after each alarm had sounded. 

For some ridiculous reason Sherlock can’t decipher, John starts to sing quietly. Something about “ _anticipation making him wait”_. 

Donovan starts to giggle. “Carly Simon, 1971.”

John laughs; Sherlock does not.

John looks up at his partner. “What? I’m waiting for the five-minute-long-spouted-in-one-breath deduction.” 

Sherlock scowls but it’s half-hearted. He surveys the suspects once more and his eyes light up in triumph. 

“Ah! She made a mistake. A miscalculation.”

“She?”

“Of course it’s a she.” 

Lestrade, straight-faced, says, “You know what they say. ‘ _Diamonds are a girl’s best friend_ ’.”

“No-one says that. Who says that?” Sherlock says. His question is drowned out by the laughter from everyone else.

“Okay, Sherlock, there’s two women left. Which one is it?” Good, dependable John, trying to soften Sherlock’s social gaffs.

He shakes his head in disappointment at the assembled group. And on that note, he’s off and running. 

“What must it be like to go through life with blinders on? Look at the big picture. You’re missing what’s right in front of your noses—”

“Eyes,” Lestrade says, and gets a royal Sherlockian glower.

“— you and the idiots before you didn’t notice that the same woman was at each location? Yes, the footage is grainy, and yes she looks a bit different each time, but she blends in so well you didn’t notice. And you also didn’t see who _disappears_ from view. Who is in every shop before the theft, then goes to the back rooms, comes back to the front and gives everyone a cheery wave—not an employee, then, and not a customer but a visitor, obviously a known entity, trusted to go to the back where the bulk of the diamonds are, unescorted? Minutes after she, and a few customers leave, the alarms are sounded. In each case. But not this one. This one was different. Why? She went to the back twice, the second time in great haste. And she’s still here.”

The corner of Sherlock’s mouth twitches up in a slight smile as he sees John’s vision narrow in on a bored looking woman standing slouched against the far wall.

Sherlock bolts from the office, the rest trailing behind. He is vibrating with excitement as he stands in front of the woman, totally invading her personal space. 

He proceeds to mercilessly deduce her.

“You’re wearing something different each time, professionally dressed, not too upscale but not casual, despite the trainers you wear. You’re not in the diamond trade, but you were raised around it. You’re well-known, more than well-known—openly welcomed by the staff in all the shops, ah! a relative, then, yes, the cutter from the first place hit. You gave him a hug and kiss when he walked you out. So, you’re the man’s daughter…no, niece. A bit of sleight of hand and poof! The diamond is gone. So what happened this time? Maybe you just got cocky and mis-timed things…” She shrinks a bit under his unfailing gaze. “No, it’s something else.” He sees a small stain on her blouse, sniffs her breath, then bows a bit and inhales deeply. “Ah. The vindaloo you had for lunch is wrecking havoc on your digestive system and you had to make a second visit to the loo, delaying your exit.”

He’s annoyed that she looks only slightly ruffled. He twirls away from her and takes frustrated strides across the room.

“But the question is _how_. How are you getting the diamonds past security? Where are you secreting them?” He gives a frustrated growl and ruffles his fingers through his hair. 

Sherlock takes a breath and closes his eyes, concentrating. When he opens them, he keeps his voice low and sings, “‘ _But I still haven’t found what I’m looking for_ ’.” Adding, “U2, 1987.” 

He’s quite pleased at the dropped jaws he sees around him, gratified at Lestrade’s scrubbing his hands across his face in disbelief, and unreasonably delighted by John’s warm laugh.

Donovan is the first to manage speech. “Didn’t figure for a fella who’d know U2.”

“Sometimes there’s no escaping…” Sherlock makes a face mimicking his brother’s scrunched up expression at the idea of legwork. “Pop culture.” The thought of such mundane trivia taking up valuable grey matter is unthinkable. “Time to purge that one from my memory. Now.”

It’s Donovan’s turn to clear her throat. “Mind if we get back to it, Mister Baritone? The case? You know, the reason why we idiots are here?”

“It may come down to a cavity search,” Lestrade sighs. “Which will require an arrest. Do you have anything besides circumstantial evidence and speculation?”

It’s John who breaks the awkward silence. “A nail in the tyre tread.” 

“John?” Sherlock doesn’t understand the non-sequitur, jumping from their taxi delay to the case. But whenever John has this thoughtful, insightful tone, Sherlock has learned to pay attention to see where John is shining his light.

John hesitates. Uncertain? Yes. Sherlock follows his gaze to the suspected woman. John looks down; the woman shifts uneasily.

John starts to hum. No, Sherlock, realises, not humming. They’re sounds, but not words. 

Seven syllables, seven notes.

Lestrade’s eyebrow’s soar to the ceiling. “Nah. No! Really?” And the D.I.’s voice joins John’s. Followed by Donovan’s. 

“ _Ta na na, ta na na na_.”

Sherlock is beyond confused until John’s solo voice sounds out: “ _She got diamonds on the soles of her shoes_.”*

After a few gasps followed by a momentary stunned silence, the room fills with sound—everyone is singing along. Except for one now barefoot woman. 

As if he’s holding up a trophy, Lestrade gleefully brandishes a trainer. Everyone’s eyes are on the diamond, cushioned between two deep treads. But Sherlock’s eyes are on John. Pretty damned smart John.

**Author's Note:**

> *"Diamonds on the Soles of Her Shoes," written by the one and only Paul Simon, 1987.
> 
> I have been reliably informed that no self-respecting Englishman would break into song like these fellows do. My apologies if I have offended any of the men of the UK.
> 
> Thank you to my beta Anyawen, and to my Brit-pic and beta 7PercentSolution.
> 
> This fic is a surprise gift for Silvergirl. When she reads it, she'll know why.


End file.
